The Unbearable Existence of a Key

Je suis une clé.
Une clé française.
Ma vie est solitaire.
Je n’ai pas d’amis.
Je suis seule.

Tous les jours.
Toute la journée.
Je regarde la fissure dans le tapis.

J’ai fait une passe à la lampe, mais il fait froid à l’intérieur.
Il fait froid dans son cul!
Ma sombre vie.
Tout est noir.

Et les lunettes de soleil …
Je les déteste!

Bandes, comme des barreaux de prison.
Couvre-lit, bleu comme la mer…
Où est le bateau qui me voile loin d’ici?

La vie comme clé c’est de la merde.
Le contenu d’une poubelle!
Mais c’est ma vie.

Photography Anette Hermann.

14 replies to “The Unbearable Existence of a Key

  1. Anette,
    This is quite awesome. There are a few typos. Would you like me to correct them? I rarely have the opportunity to actually be le francophone que je suis on the blogosphere. Let me know.
    Le Clown

  2. Translation is tricky business! Sometimes I think (thought) that was what I wanted to do, (literary translation) but like moron, I studied French which is my second language when you actually need to study your own langue natale. Go figure! Cool poem!


  3. A compelling story – very engaging, almost a mystery, a thriller, or a ‘psychological’ film from Europe.

    I am wondering – were you in a hotel and got the idea of making a series of shots with this idea in mind?

    Perhaps you walked into a hotel and asked to see a room – and then shot these and came back down and said that the room wasn’t suitable, and left.

    Or perhaps this is not a hotel and you got the idea when you found an old hotel room key in your weekend bag – but then I don’t think this is you home, your taste – and you are not going to speak ill of a friend’s room.

    So I go back to the idea that it is a hotel room. It has to be northern Europe – maybe a Mercure hotel in Paris.

  4. Beautiful lighting an mood in these shots. The first one really arrests my attention, especially. There is a most uncommon mix of mysteriousness and sensuality with these images. Beautiful.

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